Scars
by Danieli Hautequest
Summary: I raise your hands to my lips and kiss your scars. I feel you shiver and hear your gasp. You understood my tone, what I honestly meant. You know I took the step that you wouldn't dare, but you had waited so long for...


**DISCLAIMER: Rizzoli & Isles** belongs to _**Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro and TNT television network**_. **"Scars"** is a nonprofit work.

My texts **CANNOT BE** modified and/or translated, as well as archived, published in whole or shared (including download, PDF, DOC, etc.) without my prior permission.

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**THIS IS A TRANSLATION:** Being a nonprofit work, I do the conversion of the text. I ask that you take into consideration that my first language is not English, but Portuguese from Brazil, therefore, typos and spelling mistakes can happen. However, this will not hinder the absorption of the text.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** One-shot set in an indefinite period and using a random occurrence invented by me. For the rest, I used as basis recurring situations in the plot of the show.

I hope you like it. Comments are welcome and truly appreciated.

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**SCARS**

Sometimes we go through such a hard time, that by the will of destiny, at last we note that certain fears can deprive us of living fully. We always think we will have enough time to be cautious, to evaluate the variables. We plan so much, but in a moment, we can be without our support, without what, even with all our internal marks, still keep us whole.

Today, once again, I almost lost you.

A car bomb. A narrow escape. Your bruises. My dread.

New scars.

I can't stand it anymore. I'm tired.

Not of the adversities of our work. Our careers are part of what we are and how we want to live our lives.

I'm tired of my safe rationality. I'm tired to consider all the risks carefully. I'm tired of my farce with men who mean nothing to me. I'm tired to hide behind a smile when my heart hurts, seeing you with someone else. I'm tired to fear my feelings and let your sense keep us away from what we certainly could be.

It enough to give a chance to the fate takes you away from my life while I'm not truly yours.

I sigh and square my shoulders. When I find you in the living room after my planned time, however, I have a blow. Not in my conviction to claim you, but my heart tightens.

See you at the piano evoke mixed feelings in me. Mine, yours, some of them, ours. Again, I think about how our emotional baggage is already so heavy.

As I approach quietly, I watch your tense features, the pain you try to cover up while your fingers gently move over the keys causing random and short sounds, as if you were afraid of not being able to stay on them for long.

I can play piano beautifully, but I stopped doing it a long time ago. For years, you dreamed of learning the instrument, and when you finally could have a real chance, it would be something restricted. Your hands are no longer the same.

As our souls.

Many regrets. Wounds still open.

New scars.

You feel my presence and your body stiffens. Your hands, now closed in fists, are placed on your thighs.

I sit beside you on the piano stool, and we stay in silence. I look at your hands. Not are the external scars that worry me, but I have to start somewhere, until you let me take care of all them.

I meet one of your hands. You stiffen further and stare at me, in your eyes there is uncertainty, in mine, love.

I see your face soften, your trust in me making you open up. I drop my eyes giving you the time you need, while I take your hand into mine. I start stroking your scar with my thumb. I hear your sigh.

"I can teach you..."

"You said you don't play anymore..."

"When I learned piano, it was out of obligation...play it now it would be because I want to..."

"My hands..."

I take your other one that is still on your thigh and hold both of them significantly. "Your hands are no longer the same, but they are still here...you're still here...with me..."

"Marked..."

"Evidence of how you are strong and persistent...even more reason for me to love you..."

I raise your hands to my lips and kiss your scars. I feel you shiver and hear your gasp. You understood my tone, what I honestly meant. You know I took the step that you wouldn't dare, but you had waited so long for.

"Maura..." Your voice is more hoarse than usual, and it provokes me, comforts.

"Jane," I whisper, and without more, we stare at each other, the eyes, finally, without barriers, expressing what the fear made us hide.

The verbal confessions will be made later.

I release one of your hands, so I can stroke your face, being careful with your injuries caused by shrapnel from the incident, earlier.

You're still so beautiful.

You close your eyes. When you reopen them, they show everything I dreamed of seeing in them, directed to me.

You smile. Our faces get close automatically. It is a so delicate kiss, so gentle, that I feel my chest warm in fullness and my eyes sting with happy tears.

When the kiss ends, you hold me tight. "I love you too, Maura...I'm glad you're still with me..."

I smile, unable to suppress a sob. I loosen a bit from the embrace and look at you. Your sweet smile calls my senses. Affectionately, you rub my tears.

I take one of your hands in mine and guide you to the bedroom.

Minutes later, when finally we peel ourselves from everything in a slow, but necessary ritual, I touch, kiss and talk lovingly about each one of your other scars. I want you to believe that I don't reject them. I truly respect and appreciate your scars as part of you. I want your body. I love your heart.

I'll take care of you, Jane, mainly, of the marks inside. I know mine are in excellent hands.

Tomorrow, our lives will be different. Still, with much of same, but the way it honestly should be.


End file.
